Exclamation Points of Repressed Affection
by Briana Rose
Summary: Remus Lupin, alone against the forces of darkness except for a half a ham sandwich and a counterjinx for JellyLegs, has a meaningful conversation one night with Sirius Black.


_Written for a ficathon celebrating Remus' birthday on LJ. Pretty short and may be taken down later to be expanded into a longer fic._

**Exclamation Points of Repressed Affection**

It was a dark and stormy night.

At least...well, it was raining, anyway, and the moon was hidden behind the many clouds. Not that that bothered me much, mind you. We have a somewhat tenuous relationship, you could say.

Anyway, Grimmauld Place gets a bit spooky on dark and stormy nights, so I was in the basement kitchen by the fire eating my dinner, which had been left for me in the cupboard by a certain young Auror, along with a hastily scribbled note that said "_EAT SOMETHING!_" in great big block letters. It was a good suggestion, I had to admit. I ate the slightly squished cold ham sandwich she had left me and stared into the fire. Officially, I was waiting for someone to contact me through the Floo, but I didn't have high expectations for that little rendezvous. My informant was a young werewolf, jittery and unpredictable and unfortunately the only one I'd really got to trust me since I had started going underground among the others.

Right when I had finished the first half of the sandwich Sirius came bounding down the stairs with an empty bucket. He was whistling a tune I didn't recognize as he opened the door to Kreacher's boiler room-bedroom and set the bucket inside. The two of them had a long-standing understanding about the rats that were fed to Buckbeak. Kreacher, despite all outward appearances, was apparently quite adept at catching the rats that unfortunately abound in Number 12. So, ironically enough, was Sirius. It was the only talent the two really shared. In the beginning, when I first moved into the house, it had been sort of a competition between the two to see who, dog or house-elf, could catch the most. (Obviously I gracefully declined taking part in the game.) In the months leading up to that dark and stormy night, however, Sirius had forsworn his rodent-trapping ways.

"I'm through catching rats," he told me one night when he was properly drunk. "Except one," he added darkly, although, as I said, he was a little too drunk to really be effective in this threat. And so Kreacher became the sole provider of rats to Buckbeak the hippogriff in our very happy household.

(I should mention that however skilled ratters the two of them might have been, they in no way were as skillful as Crookshanks the cat was during his brief stay. Sirius told me it was almost uncanny; he'd never seen anything like it.)

At any rate, that night Sirius came into the kitchen after feeding Buckbeak he was whistling, something I had not seen him do in ages. Since he had given up the rat-catching I had noticed he had been in a bit of a...ditch. I blamed it on the bad weather, or, perhaps more accurately, how he was not permitted out in the bad weather.

"How are you?" I had asked cordially.

"Just great, Moony." He was so great, in fact, that he reached over and took the rest of my sandwich.

"Give it back."

"I'll fight you for it," said Sirius.

"Oh, come on."

"Wands out, get ready."

"Sirius, it's a _sandwich_."

"You don't want it, then?"

I did want it. Quite badly, in fact, but I thought perhaps I could reason with him. "Tonks made me that sandwich, why should I have to give it up to an ill-bred mutt like you?" Exquisite logic, I know.

"Ill-bred? Excuse me? I don't think you're much to talk on that matter, Mr. Lupin."

The duel that ensued was, I admit, a bit childish, considering that it was ended by me crying "Uncle!" (figuratively) by collapsing into my chair, my legs too weak to support my weight.

"Did you use Jelly-Legs?" I asked, pulling my torso up in my chair, my legs trailing like noodles.

"I've subtly weakened you."

"You've used Jelly-Legs."

"Same thing," he said through a mouthful of _my_ sandwich.

"Hungry, were you?" I asked, acidly.

"I can make you another one, if you like." He had finished _my_ sandwich in two bites.

I cast the counter-jinx on my afflicted limbs and didn't answer him. "Do you mind telling me what all that was about?"

"Leads me to a matter of great importance," he said from the cupboard.

"Oh?"

"Do you like having Tonks around?"

"What?"

"Tonks. Do you like having her around?"

"Well, sure. I especially like when she makes me sandwiches which aren't stolen and eaten by greedy sons of bit--"

"All right, all right." Sirius paused. "Because I think she likes coming around here as well. You don't mind corned beef, do you?"

"I hate corned beef."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. Use the ham."

"There's no ham left."

"What?"

"I must've eaten the last of it." Sirius had the decency to at least look slightly ashamed.

"Well, thanks."

"I mean, she _must_ like coming over here. I mean, she made you a sandwich. Women don't make you sandwiches unless they like you, Remus."

"You're making me a sandwich," I pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm not making you a sandwich you'll particularly like, so it all works out in the end."

"Well, maybe, but..." I wasn't sure how to end the sentence.

"She also left you a vaguely threatening yet concerned note to go along with the sandwich."

"What, you mean this?" I picked up Tonks' "_EAT SOMETHING!" billet-doux_. "I suppose every extra exclamation point screams of repressed affection."

"Exactly. I was just thinking about it as I fed Buckbeak."

"I like how you consider my love life while watching a hippogriff crush small rodents' skulls."

"I do know your love life pretty well, Remus. I mean, better than most people."

"Better than Tonks, certainly. What's your point, anyway?"

My ambivalence seemed to have offended him. "My point is eat your sandwich and shut up." He set the plate on the table in front of me with a clatter.

I could tell he didn't feel like talking anymore. I suppose I really didn't either.

That was in April. That summer, when I wasn't thinking about Sirius or Fenrir Greyback or Voldemort I'd sometimes think about Tonks and the difference between corned beef sandwiches and ham ones. Tonks had told Molly (who made me quite a few sandwiches that summer) how I didn't like them, apparently. If Sirius had still been around I'm sure he would've explained how women don't remember your sandwich preferences unless they _really_ like you. I guess it didn't sink in on me until later. Or something.

THE END


End file.
